Almost 6 Months -- MRI pending

I like coffee. I really do. That has nothing to do with my rehab; I just thought I’d share that.

It’s been an unusual past week, week and a half. I experienced some minor discomfort in my knee, the first time I’ve felt something other than the occasional swelling and soreness. I don’t want to overstate the discomfort, but it was a somewhat piercing pain, like a little pinprick on the medial side. This is where my lesions are, though not where I felt pain pre-surgery. Hopefully it’s nothing serious. It didn’t last more than a few moments, and only a handful of times. I think I over-did a cardio workout last week. At least I hope that’s all it was.

Perhaps emboldened by the somewhat normal state my knee seemed to achieve, I did a fairly moderate cardio workout. I spent 15 minutes on the elliptical, followed by 15 minutes on the bike, followed by another 15 minutes on the elliptical. No break in between exercises, with the entire time spent at a level only a notch or two below what I used to do pre-surgery. Too much, too soon? Perhaps. I’ve since backed off, returning to a gentler level on the elliptical. The “pain” has since disappeared.

Now, I don’t want to suggest that by calling my knee, “normal,” I’m close to returning to pre-surgery levels. God, no. By normal, I mean I can walk around without people gawking at me like I was John Merrick. I still lack any athletic prowess, and occasionally resort to the “old man shuffle,” as a friend described my movements at a recent baseball practice. And I don’t see myself cliff-diving in Acapulco anytime soon. But I’ve now reached the point that I feel dirty for parking in the handicap spots. Is that progress? Or just a sign that I’ve developed a guilty conscience?

My knee continues to click/catch at random moments, sometimes even making soft clicks while walking normally. No pain or discomfort, though. And if I walk slow enough, or focus on walking a certain way, my knee won’t click/catch. I still start each morning with a lovely “popping” sound when I finally exit my bed. That’s just my knee waking up in the morning. On the positive side, the back of my knee – popliteus tendon? – no longer aches or pops. Anyway, I’m hoping the MRI reveals the cause of these noises.

Ah, the MRI. I enjoyed the cold comfort of the human test tube on Monday morning, laying perfectly still for 35 minutes. Jack FM – the radio station without DJs – provided the in-flight entertainment. Amazingly, the films were ready immediately after the MRI, though it’ll take a day or so to prepare the actual report. I review the results with my surgeon on Wednesday, exactly 6 months after my surgery. No need to speculate what the MRI will show. I’ll update later.

I suffered an emotional setback recently. Not a death blow. More like Johnny sweeping Daniel-san’s leg. My knee’s healed sufficiently that I can kick the soccer ball in the backyard with my 7-yr old. Nothing sophisticated. Just some simple back-and-forth passing, using my good leg 95% of the time. I tried teaching my son a few dribbling moves, but quickly discovered I lack the lateral movement even to demonstrate them. I’ve got 1-step range, and that one step is R-E-A-L slow. Very depressing. I hope this is only a temporary limitation, but I’m pretty concerned it’s permanent. I never imagined I wouldn’t be able to physically assist my son’s sports development. That’s extraordinarily difficult to accept. Hopefully my mediocre athletic abilities return over the next 12 months as the cloned cartilage heals.

Tragedy is Comedy

One of my favorite expressions compares tragedy and comedy. I’ve heard several versions used, but it goes something like this: “The difference between tragedy and comedy is 15 minutes.” The precise timeframe might vary, but the sentiment is that once you step away from something -- even something terrible -- you’ll be able to laugh about it. The trick, it seems, is being able to survive those first 15 minutes.

Now, I’m not sure 15 minutes is enough time to process a tragic event, just as I’m sure there are certain events that are never funny. I mean, I can’t imagine pounding Budweisers with a buddy 15 minutes after witnessing a fatal car crash, and then laughing about how far the dude’s body flew through the air.

But I understand the point behind this expression. To move beyond a tragedy, you need to create enough distance to de-personalize the situation; enough space that you’re able to laugh without offending or being offended.

That’s been a valuable lesson to learn during this recovery. (Yes, I realize there are plenty things worse than ACI knee surgery, but give me some leeway here). It sucked tremendously having my wife heave my crumpled, naked body onto a shower chair (without any chance for some shower nookie). And it sucked having to beg my wife to bolt down the toilet seat riser just so I could take a dump. Tremendous indignities. Some men have been permanently scarred by far less.

But you know what? Some of the sh*t ACI patients suffer through is pretty damn funny. Seriously. Being forced to poop on Nutty Professor-sized toilets? Freakin’ hysterical. Except, of course, when it happens to you. You just need enough time to remove yourself from that humiliating moment to recognize the humor. The sooner you do so, the easier the recovery will be.

On a completely separate topic, here’s a list of TV shows I’ve enjoyed through the power of Netflix. If you’re about to undergo ACI, I recommend picking up some of these DVDs to help pass the time during those first few days/weeks.

The Wire – “real” look at inner-city Baltimore, with each season focusing on a different aspect: drugs/cops, docks, politicians, schools and the newspaper industry. 5 seasons. Probably the best show, start-to-finish, I’ve ever watched. Lots of great characters; lots of plot lines. It might take a few episodes before you’re fully invested, but stick with it. You won’t be disappointed.

Extras – Ricky Gervais stars as movie extra who makes it big. 2 short seasons.

The Office – we’ve only watched the American version, but clever stuff.

Big Love – Polygamist family life. Season 1 was much better than Season 2, though we heard Season 3 is solid.

Arrested Development – smart person’s comedy. 3 seasons

Mad Men – sophisticated drama focusing on the 1950s NYC advertising world. Only 1 season available on disk right now.

Friday Night Lights – just started watching this high school football show, but so far it’s solid. 3 seasons

Curb Your Enthusiasm – uncomfortable humor at its finest. 6 seasons

Entourage – Hollywood star enjoys life with boyhood friends. The first season was excellent, but it steadily went downhill. Still, it's mindless entertainment. 5 seasons

Slow and Steady (hopefully) Wins the Race

Another week, 2 more degrees of ROM. I'm gaining flexion on a timetable closer to a regular diet than the crash course Adkins -- I just keep adding a few degrees here and there. I'm now at 143 degrees, about 2 degrees shy of my good leg.

I went swimming for the first time. Not pool-walking; real swimming. A few weeks back, we set up the 20-foot round, 3-feet deep, above-ground pool. It sits right next to the camping trailer and the '75 Impala resting on concrete blocks. Real classy addition to our backyard. But the kids love it, so I can't complain.

Anyway, I actually swam the length of our pool a few times. My swim stroke can best be described as "painfully ugly." Well, assuming you can see my form past my blinding "office glare" tan. Truthfully, I can't call my swimming motion, a "stroke." That would be an insult to swim strokes; thrashing about is more accurate. But luckily it only takes me 2-3 "strokes" to cross my pool. Anything longer and I'd drown. No, wait. I'd just stand up. The pool's only 3 feet deep. Phew.

Similar to using the ellipitcal machine, swimming felt...odd. My leg felt more like a broken flipper, flopping precariously like a creaky door barely attached to the hinges. Not sure if that's my gimpy knee; the weak quad; or just my uncomfortableness with swimming. I doubt I'll swim regularly enough to give Michael Phelps a run for his money. But I do hope to get decent enough that the life guards won't have to rescue me. Or at least good enough to avoid having to wear my daughter's Strawberry Shortcake floaties.

Frustratingly Normal

First things first. 141. That’s the number I’m slapping down. It’s got a mystic feel, like a 300 bowling game, or .400 batting average. No, it’s not my IQ (c’mon, don’t insult my genius with that piddling score). Rather, 141’s my new ROM. Breaking 140 is like shattering the flexion glass ceiling. It’s still 4 degrees shy of my good leg, but it falls comfortably within what’s considered full range of motion. Hopefully I’ll recapture those last 4 degrees, but I don’t feel like I’m missing anything if I don’t.

I experimented with a handful of new cardio exercises this week. Well, not new in the sense that I’ve never done them before; I just haven’t done them since my surgery. Some worked; some didn’t.

First, I fell in love all over again with my old friend the elliptical machine. Even before the surgery, I stopped running and rarely used the stair climber. Too much stress on my knees. The elliptical (some call it, Precor) became my primary source of cardio. Low impact, easy to use, and capable of various speed/intensity, the elliptical was a great way to sweat off 500 calories. This week, I set the machine at level 1 for both the height of the glide tracks and the resistance. Man, I felt like an 85-year Eskimo taking a leisurely stroll across the Tundra after chowing down on some penguin meat. The motion felt . . . strange. My knee didn’t hurt. I wasn’t tired. And my form was generally normal. But something didn’t feel quite right. The best way to describe it, I guess, was the sensation amputees report they feel from their missing limbs. Now, I’ve got all my appendages, so I really don’t know how that feels. This just seems to be the right description. Or at least the best I’m able to do. Anyway, I anticipate slowly increasing the level of difficulty on the elliptical, and finally being able to sweat off some of the extra poundage.

The treadmill proved far more difficult. For the past 2-3 weeks, I’ve steadily increased my pace and incline setting. Most recently, I cruised along at a 3.5mph clip at the 4-incline setting. After 20 minutes, I was glistening like a Southern Belle sunbathing on a glorious summer day. Glorious, that it, because she’s topless. Unless she’s really fat. In that case, put the Mumu back on, honey. Or scrape together a few yards of fabric to make one. Seriously. (Sorry, a sudden mean streak crept upon me. The kids were beating the crap out of each other. I’ll return to my jovial self shortly).

Ok, back to the treadmill without the boobie analogy. I tried lateral walking. Basically, that’s shuffling sideways, something middle-schoolers do at basketball practice. I slowed the treadmill down to 1.5mph, its slowest setting and took a couple of normal walking steps to acclimate myself before trying out the new motion. I didn’t think it was possible to move that slow. Sadly, even 1.5mph was too fast for my lateral walking. I simply couldn’t comfortably shuffle at that blistering pace. It felt like somebody was yanking out the rug beneath me.

The same thing happened when I tried to walk backwards, only this time I also resembled Elliot, you know, the really dorky 2nd grader with the coke-bottle glasses who always gets picked last at kickball? True, I simply couldn’t handle this speed at this point in my recovery, but I was also painfully uncoordinated, tripping over my feet and otherwise stumbling around, trying my best not to fly off the back of the treadmill. For somebody who used to dig 60 mph spikes, not being able to walk sideways or backwards was depressing. Taking the “glass is half-full” attitude, I’ve got a new athletic challenge. It’s just embarrassing that the “challenge” is something my 3-year old can do.

The past few weeks have been interesting. Several times I actually feel normal, forgetting the 2 screws and 13-inch scar decorating my knee. No pain. No limp. No uncomfortableness. I even handle stairs with minimal difficulty. But then I instinctively try to do something a bit beyond my limit – for example, trying to move 2 steps to catch an errant throw at my 7-year old’s baseball practice – and instantly my deficiencies snap me back to reality. I realize how limited I still am. Like an athlete past his prime. His mind knows what to do, but the body won’t cooperate. Actually, I’m way past my prime, so my body wouldn’t cooperate even if it wanted to. Nonetheless, I feel relatively decent about my long-term prognosis. Sure, I get beaten down plenty about the lost opportunities over the past 5 months and more than occasionally worry that I’ll be forced to embrace a lesser quality of life. But overall I remain hopeful I’ll regain full use of my knee. If so, expect a new Guinness record for backwards walking in 2010.